


Festering

by raengst



Series: Festering Verse [1]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor Whump (Hazbin Hotel), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Cannibalism, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Demon Deals, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, F/M, Hurt Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Multi, Not A Happy Ending, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Valentino is icky and gross, but you should probably worry anyway, nobody dies tho so don't worry, the story in which i make everyone feel bad for Alastor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:28:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24449602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raengst/pseuds/raengst
Summary: Alastor and Valentino strike a deal, but the scale’s been tipped entirely in Valentino’s favor.
Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) & Original Character(s), Alastor/Valentino (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust/Valentino (Hazbin Hotel)
Series: Festering Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774834
Comments: 55
Kudos: 188





	1. Butchered Deal

Eventually, the screams and radio static die down. The reign of carnage is over. For now.

Valentino surveys the damage through the window of his penthouse studio, watching the shadows slink away and reveal the dozens upon dozens of mutilated bodies. It was like the aftermath of the yearly extermination, but this time caused only by one demon.

The new sinner clad in red, a feral grin permanently etched onto his face. The hum of radio static follows him as the remaining demons dart out of his way. Here for only a few weeks and he’s already carved fresh fear into all of Hell through torture, destruction, and absolute chaos. He’s torn down some of the longest standing overlords with just a snap of his fingers.

_Fascinating._

Valentino stands up, his own grin sharp and cutting. He slips on a zebra print suit jacket and makes his way down the studio and out into the blood-soaked evening. The air reeks of iron as he walks down the crimson stained roads. An absolute massacre, a mural of corpses. It’s almost a masterpiece, the only thing missing is a personal signature.

He catches up easily enough but keeps a steady distance between the two of them. However, it seems he’s already been noticed, if the shadow on the wall watching him with a snarl is any indication.

He turns at the next corner, and Valentino catches the other demon’s eye before he slips past the brick wall. Valentino picks up the pace as he comes around the corner, but immediately comes to a halt when he’s confronted by a microphone staff pointed at his face. He can feel the buzz of power coming off it as its outline glows red.

“Are you an eager fan or are you looking for a fight?”

Valentino chuckles. “I suppose you could say I’ve become a recent fan of yours. Your latest work”—he gestures to the chaotic mess around them— “was quite spectacular.”

The microphone doesn’t move but the demon’s grin widens. “And to whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“Valentino,” he says, offering his hand. “It’s quite a pleasure to meet you, Radio Demon.”

The Radio Demon laughs loudly at that, and Valentino can hear the addition of a recorded crowd joining in before it abruptly cuts off. He doesn’t take Valentino’s hand, but the staff turns into a black tendril and quickly disappears into his sleeve. “Is that what they’re calling me now? A bit uncreative, don’t you think?”

Valentino agrees, dropping his hand. “What should I call you then?”

“Alastor will do just fine.”

“Well then, _Alastor_ , would you care to accompany me for a meal? You must be starved.” He lets his gaze drift up and down the Radio Demon’s slender frame. Such a skinny waist. He looks so easy to grab onto and snap in half. Easy to dominate.

When their eyes meet again, Valentino has to hide his smirk when he sees Alastor watching him with a careful and cautious gaze. He can hear the stations changing, the switching of frequencies as the Radio Demon considers his offer.

“There’s a little diner up ahead,” Valentino continues, pointing at the sign that reads The Devil’s Plate. “Soups, sandwiches, whatever your heart desires.”

Alastor rubs his chin in thought as his humming melds together with the ever present static. It grates on Valentino’s ears, but it dies down soon enough once his offer is accepted.

They walk in sync the rest of the way. They don’t talk, instead Valentino listens to whatever music is spewing out through the Radio Demon’s teeth. Besides the manic grin permanently carved into his features, he gives off a relatively harmless appearance. But walking side by side like this, Valentino can feel the thrum of power swirling in that lithe body of his. He can almost taste it, and he wants it all for himself.

Alastor opens the door to the diner and lets him enter first, feigning politeness. They sit across from each other at one of the booths tucked away in the corner. When the little bug of a waitress comes over, he orders a small beef stew, and is surprised when his new companion orders four of their meatiest sandwiches and two large bowls of their hardiest stews.

“Hungry, are we?” he jokes, half serious.

The Radio Demon narrows his eyes at him, smile predatory. “And you’re not?”

Valentino savors that look a little too long before shrugging. He leans back against the cushioned seat, crossing his legs and one set of arms. He lazily flips through the menu, wondering if Alastor would also order dessert later Glancing up at said demon, he sees that he’s sitting perfectly upright, letting his eyes wander and observe the inside of the diner.

It’s just a little place; dark wood floor and red brick walls. Detailed paintings of the food line the walls, a few feature the original owner and the employees. It’s a nasty little place too, dirt and grime coating every surface, and the yellow lighting does no favors. But it works for now and that’s all that matters.

Valentino reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a long cigarette holder. It’s gold with three rows of little diamonds decorating the end of it. He places a cigarette inside and then looks at Alastor expectantly, having seen his use of fire from his earlier rampage. The Radio Demon’s smile twists into something more annoyed before he snaps his fingers, producing a small flame, and lights the cigarette. Valentino smiles gleefully and takes in a long drag as Alastor shakes his hand loose of the flame like a dying match.

“How long have you been here?” Alastor suddenly inquires. Valentino huffs out a short laugh, smoke curling around them. He notes the slight scrunch of Alastor’s nose and the little twitch in his smile.

“For a very long time.”

Alastor quirks a brow and cocks his head to the side. “Oh?”

Valentino’s smile turns into a grin.

There’s something satisfying in seeing the curiosity in the Radio Demon’s red eyes. He’s got him hooked, interested in _him._ All powerful as he may be, he’s still new to Hell and its inner workings, still new to the creatures that inhabit it. All he’s done so far is cause a mass genocide rivalling that of the exterminators and make himself out as an ideal overlord.

Yes, he’s a perfect fit for the role. But he’s also a wild card, too unpredictable. And Valentino’s sure he would make a better fit beneath him anyways.

Their food and drinks arrive, and the conversation stops there for now. Which suits Valentino just fine, he has other things in mind that he wants to discuss. He picks around the vegetables in his stew, eating only the pieces of meat he finds, and watches as Alastor devours his multiple meals in rapid succession. It verges on disgusting, but Valentino finds himself more intrigued than anything.

 _Part of his punishment?_ he wonders.

He’s finishing up the second bowl of stew when Valentino speaks again, “I wanted to discuss something with you.”

A radio static filled hum is his only reply as Alastor tips the bowl up to drink the rest of the broth. He sets it down next to the stack of plates. Already finished while Valentino has hardly made a dent in his own meal. It’s like he has a bottomless pit for a stomach.

Alastor leans back against cushioned seat. “And what is it that you would like to talk about?”

Valentino takes in another long drag and breathes out slowly, this time purposely pushing the smoke toward Alastor. He smirks when he sees his companion’s smiling face scrunch up further in distaste.

“Your little rampage has landed you the perfect opportunity to become an overlord,” he starts. “You hold immense power and sinners actively fear you. This naturally gives you a bit of dominion over Hell.”

“An overlord huh?” Alastor sits back up, static rising in volume, and grins. It’s wide and savage, hungry for power. Valentino shivers in delight at the look, blood rushing down. Yes, like this, Alastor really is a wild animal that needs to be tamed.

“There are quite a few overlords, me being one of them. It’s important to know who they are and who you should watch out for,” Valentino continues, staring him down.

The Radio Demon’s eyes narrow. “Are you threatening me?”

“Oh no, no, no,” Valentino laughs. “I like you. I want us to be friends and look out for reach other. It’s important to have allies, especially in Hell.”

Alastor looks contemplative but otherwise unconvinced. Valentino hums and leans forward. “Listen, you’re still new here. While I’m sure you can handle yourself, it’s a good idea to have someone watch your back as you get yourself settled. Being an overlord has a fair bit of work involved, not just scaring everyone into respecting you.”

His companion chuckles, resting his chin on his hands and closing his eyes as he considers the offer. Valentino smiles and waits him out, breathing out smoke like a slumbering dragon. It curls around the two of them, wrapping around them like a loving scarf. He tempts fate by sliding his heeled boot next to Alastor’s loafer and playfully nudging it. To his gleeful surprise, Alastor doesn’t recoil away and even nudges back.

“Come on,” Valentino starts, reaching out a hand. Alastor opens his eyes to watch him with a calculated stare. But he can see the slight haze those red eyes, and that’s all Valentino needs to know that he’s won. “Let’s work together.”

He feels giddy when Alastor looks at his offering hand with temptation.

“You look out for me and I look out for you,” he says, taking in one last lungful from his cigarette before blowing it out in the Radio Demon’s face. He looks beautiful surrounded by the pink fog, almost ethereal. Valentino grins. “What do you say?”

Alastor takes his hand and it burns like a white-hot iron. Crimson coats his vision despite the vibrant green that surrounds their hands and moves up their arms, binding their souls together. It’s a lot, almost too much, like a baby snake that puts all its venom in one bite. But he loves it, and Valentino wouldn’t have it any other way.

“It’s a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be sure to let me know what you think!
> 
> Follow me at [dogscars](https://dogscars.tumblr.com/) where I post and reblog things I think relate to this story and the many other ideas I have.


	2. Maggot Infested

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because no matter how powerful Alastor is, he’s still only a mortal soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for major non-con in the latter half of this chapter. Stay safe my friends. <3

Valentino stands in front of a small wood cottage, the roof threatening to collapse under the weight of the radio tower. It’s surrounded by an unforgiving forest full of shadows and ever hungry monsters.

He wraps his knuckles against the door and chuckles when the door opens with no one to greet him. Out of the corner of his eye he catches the smiling shadow retreat into the kitchen. The smell of cooking food and the sound of soft jazz playing through a radio comes from the room. Valentino smiles before closing the door behind him and taking in his surroundings.

A dark red couch and rug sits in the middle of the room. Tall shelves line the walls, filled with books and a collection of jars. Valentino steps closer to examine them and sees eyes staring back at him. Moving along he finds jars with small bones and teeth, others with leaves and flowers, and some with whole organs. Stepping back, he looks over at the other side of the room and spies a few mounted demons on the wall.

He smirks before moving on, finally entering the kitchen where the Radio Demon is at work. He’s cooking what might turn out to be a stew judging by the ingredients laid out on the counter. Chunks of meat are frying in a pan as he dices an onion that he throws in a pot.

“What brings you around?” he asks without turning around.

“Been a few weeks,” Valentino says. “Figured I’d stop by and chat.”

Alastor hums absentmindedly, in tune with the song playing on the radio sitting on the counter. He finishes up the rest of the onion and moves on to cutting up the celery. Valentino observes his work from over his shoulder, noting the preciseness of each slice. Thin, but still thick enough, and absolutely perfect.

In doing so he catches sight of the web of scars lining Alastor’s neck. His eyes travel down to rolled up sleeves, exposing bare skin where even more scars are displayed. It’s like something tried to rip him apart, tearing at his flesh like a wild animal devouring its prey.

He lifts his arm to run his hand over the raised skin, wanting to feel it against his own. His fingers barely touch the scarred flesh when Alastor snarls at him, the calm hum of static suddenly ear splitting. The knife is raised to Valentino’s throat who sneers as the tip of the blade cuts into his neck.

Alastor’s smile is more akin to a wild animal baring its teeth, vicious and angry. The pupils of his eyes are like radio dials, wavering ever so slightly as he growls out through layers of static, “ _Do **not** touch me._” The room darkens, and crimson symbols swirl above growing antlers. He steps forward, pressing the knife deeper into Valentino’s throat, making him choke on the metal and his own blood.

Valentino glares at the demon before him but keeps his own grin up even as blood flows past his clenched teeth. Like this, he’s getting the full wave of the Radio Demon’s power crashing over him. It’s addicting, delicious, licking at his skin. And such a delightful face too. Predatory, ready to maim. He’s hard just thinking about it. He considers moving forward, letting the knife go deeper just so he can have him now. Claim him all for himself.

But that can wait.

He can wait.

Instead he pulls back, blood gushing down his fur coat. He holds a hand to the cut and waits for the wound to stitch itself together before speaking. “My apologies,” he says as he makes a show of hiding his hands behind his back.

The Radio Demon hardly seems satisfied, but the room lights back up and his expression returns to something more composed. With narrowed eyes shooting one last threatening glare in Valentino’s direction, Alastor turns back to continue working on his meal.

Valentino keeps watching, this time from a distance. His eyes track the movements of Alastor’s arms, the scars that are like the messy mistakes of a clay project. He aches at the fleeting moments when Alastor’s neck is more exposed, the scars of torn flesh to tantalizingly close. Oh, how he’d love to bite into that ruined skin, to mark it in his own way.

The celery is dumped into the pot and he moves on to the carrots, occasionally checking on the meat to make sure it gets cooked thoroughly.

“Did you cook a lot when you were alive?” Valentino asks, feeling genuinely curious.

“Yes, my mother taught me,” Alastor replies, aggressively chopping the carrots with a forced calmness in his tone. He looks stiff as a board. Valentino hides his soft chuckle by ruffling his furred jack and pulling out the cigarette holder. After placing a cigarette inside, he lights it up and takes in a long drag.

He breathes out and grins as the smoke fills the room, falling around them like a light blanket of snow. He watches in satisfaction as the Radio Demon goes absolutely rigid before he attempts to cover up his cough by briefly upping the volume on the radio.

“I don’t see why you need to smoke in my kitchen,” Alastor grumbles.

Valentino huffs out a short laugh, “What? You don’t like it?”

“It smells disgusting.”

He snickers. “Care to try it? I assure you it tastes better than it smells.”

A heavy radio static filled _no_ is his only reply. Valentino hums, taking another puff before blowing it out, keeping the room coated in his flavor. He sits down at the table and listens to the music playing from the little red radio.

He settles in by watching Alastor’s back, sharp shoulder blades moving beneath the fabric of his shirt and vest. The rigidness starts to ebb away, but he remains in perfect posture. Valentino lets his eyes travel lower and he’s pleased to see how fitting his pants are around his ass. He imagines a scenario where he bends the Radio Demon over the counter and takes him right there. He wonders what noises he could drag out of him, what faces he could have him make as he rams into him.

His mind carries on, flipping through various scenes, and he lets his imagination go wild. A good fuck on the kitchen floor, or maybe on the couch in the living room. Maybe they take it to the bedroom, a trail of clothes falling after them.

He imagines forcing his mouth open with his tongue, the Radio Demon’s teeth slicing it open. As his blood coats the inside of Alastor’s mouth, Valentino strips off their clothes, exposing more scarred flesh to press against his own skin. Lifting him up, thrusting in—

“What did you want to talk about?” Alastor asks, dragging Valentino out from his fantasies. His back is still facing him, having finished all the prep and giving the stew one last stir. He seems far more relaxed and at ease thanks to the constant flow of smoke. Valentino grins.

“Saw you set up more radio towers around Hell,” he starts, setting the gold pipe down after having finished the cigarette. Standing up, he continues, “Seems like you’re settling in okay.”

“Securing turf, spreading influence, maintaining power,” Alastor lists. “It’s just busy work.”

Valentino chuckles, agreeing. “I also wanted to go over the details of our deal.”

“Hm?”

He stands directly behind the Radio Demon, gently pressing his body against his back and leaning over his shoulder. Alastor turns his head to glare at him, but there’s a slight haze in his eyes. Valentino’s grin widens. He reaches a hand over to turn off the stove burner. In a low voice, he says, “You can finish that later, yeah?”

Alastor doesn’t say anything, just watches him with narrowed eyes and a closed-lipped smile. Valentino takes the opportunity to press his lips against the Radio Demon’s. To his satisfaction, Alastor starts to kiss back, rough and mashing his teeth against his. Valentino tries to pry his mouth open and make a dream a reality. At the slightest opening, he snakes his tongue in and groans as Alastor’s teeth slice into him. He shoves his hardness against Alastor’s ass, moaning.

Without warning, Alastor snaps his jaw closed, severing Valentino’s tongue. Valentino steps back, blood gushing past his grin. He watches Alastor turn around to properly face him, swallowing his impromptu meal. He relishes in the sight of seeing _his_ blood drip down the Radio Demon’s chin.

When his tongue grows back, he asks, “How do I taste?”

Alastor licks his lips, slow and contemplative; there’s no way it’s not for show. Valentino aches, imagining and wanting his mouth around his cock. “Not _too_ bad, I suppose.”

Valentino shudders in excitement. He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over the kitchen chair. Alastor watches him with hooded eyes, leaning back heavily against the counter. He seems to be falling hard and fast under his influence, especially after biting a chunk out of him. Valentino smiles in satisfaction. As all powerful as Alastor may be, he’s still only a mortal soul.

He walks back and stands in front of him. Tilting his chin up with his hand, Valentino is pleased to see the shroud of lust in Alastor’s eyes, a heavy cloud of want. He leans his head down to where they’re barely centimeters apart.

“As the deal stands,” he starts, breathing hot air into Alastor’s face. “We’re supposed to look out for each other, yes?”

Alastor hums in agreement. Unease spreads across his face as Valentino begins to undo the buttons of his vest and shirt, but he otherwise does nothing. Valentino watches him closely as he slowly starts to remove his clothing. It’s amusing to see someone so powerful look so unsure.

“Are you a virgin?”

Alastor’s smile is small and Valentino wants to laugh. It’s not often he comes across a virgin in his line of work; it’s certainly a rare treat. “That’s fine,” he says. To be the one to deflower the Radio Demon is an opportunity he could never pass up.

He drops Alastor’s clothes to the floor and admires the exposed skin before him. He’s skinny, disturbingly so. Skin pulled tight across the bones of his ribcage, the sharp edges of his hip and collarbones threatening to slice right through his scarred flesh. And so many scars too; a canvas full of them. Valentino traces them with his fingers, relishing the feel of every dip and bump. Alastor’s body is tense, his breath shaky.

“Looking out for each other,” Valentino says, pressing on. “What do you think that means?”

One set of hands begins remove his own clothing, while the other continues their ministrations on the lithe body in front of him. Valentino lets his hands travel lower, taking a moment to caress the sharp hipbones and then moving on to undo his pants.

Valentino lowers his head down to Alastor’s neck, licking and nipping at the scarred flesh. Alastor lets out a strangled noise before managing to answer the question. “Protection.”

“That’s right,” he murmurs. “We need to protect each other. Take down power hungry opportunists and keep our best interests safe. Maintain control if you will.”

He lets the rest of their clothes fall to the floor, exposing them both. Valentino moves down to Alastor’s collarbone, leaving a trail of bleeding bite marks in his wake. It’s like fire on his tongue but addicting all the same. He lightly strokes Alastor’s cock and smiles at the small whine he makes. But before he can continue further, he finds hands pushing at his chest.

“Stop,” Alastor says. Valentino pulls back to look at him, curious and slightly annoyed at the sudden shift. The Radio Demon’s glaring at him, looking more uncomfortable than simply nervous. Valentino squints at the spark of clarity in his eyes. It’s not much, but it’s there. Maybe he’s just moving too fast?

He thinks of the fire on his tongue from Alastor’s blood and a new thought comes to mind. His influence is burning out faster, overpowered by the Radio Demon's own power. Not impossible, not unheard of. Sometimes more exposure is just needed. With that in mind, he licks his lips and smirks.

“Not a fan of being teased?”

Alastor stares at him, confusion and even disgust settling in. He shakes his head as if trying to clear his head and come back to himself. When he opens his mouth to speak, Valentino leans in and kisses him. He shoves his tongue in, cutting it open once again, and Alastor moans, melting into it. When the hands that had been pushing against him move to casually rest on top of his shoulders instead, Valentino knows he has him right where he wants him.

He picks him up, cupping his ass, and turns around to lay him down on the table. Valentino pulls back, a string of bloody spit caught between them. The Radio Demon looks dazed, eyelids heavy and smile lazy. Valentino positions himself between his legs and smiles down at him. One set of hands works lube onto his erection while the other traces the scars on Alastor’s thighs.

“I want you to come and stay at the studio with me,” Valentino says, voice low. Alastor looks at him questioningly.

Valentino watches him and, without waiting for a reply, shoves his hips forward, thrusting in. There’s a harsh screech of radio static, the Radio Demon’s smile going manic as he fixates his gaze at the ceiling. He arches his back, a pained groan escaping past his clenched teeth. Valentino sneers and leans down to mark Alastor’s skin further but clawed hands digging in and pushing against his shoulders stop him.

“Get off,” Alastor growls, his grin strained.

Valentino rolls his eyes. “Come on now, Ally-boy,” he chides. The fighting back is getting a little tiresome. He presses down and the Radio Demon’s claws tear into his skin. Valentino sighs. He really should have hung around more, coated everything in his flavor more. But he was busy, and now he’s impatient. He grabs Alastor’s wrists and pins them down above his head.

“No—”

Valentino hushes him with a forceful kiss. Keeping his mouth occupied, he starts moving. Slow and steady for now, wanting to savor the moment. This is a deflowering after all.

The Radio Demon finally relaxes, letting his body go with the motions. Valentino pulls away and smiles at the hazy eyes looking back at him. “Come stay with me at my studio,” he repeats. “I can protect you there, keep you safe.”

Alastor visibly swallows, expression conflicted. He opens his mouth to speak but immediately clamps it shut at Valentino’s next thrust. His eyes flutter close, a low moan slipping out. Valentino’s smile turns into a grin and picks up the pace.

He licks and bites at Alastor’s throat, listening to every lewd sound he draws out of him. Every moan, grunt, and whine in between heavy breaths. Valentino can taste the power in his blood, rich and burning. He can feel it stirring within Alastor’s lithe body, swears it pulses around his cock. It’s electrifying, tantalizing, addicting.

Alastor’s tense beneath him and he struggles against Valentino’s hold on his wrists. Valentino leans back away from his bleeding neck to watch him. He looks pained, eyes fixed on staring at the ceiling and smile barely holding onto his flushed face. Valentino chuckles lightly. It’s a little disappointing, but he figured Alastor wouldn’t last long.

He keeps going and it only takes a few more thrusts before Alastor cums. Back arching, eyes rolling and squeezing shut, he lets out a strangled, static-filled groan. The Radio Demon looks lovely like this, Valentino thinks, completely undone and at his mercy. He rides out Alastor’s orgasm before finishing himself. He listens to Alastor’s labored breathing and watches glistening, scarred skin move with each heavy breath.

Valentino smiles and pulls out. He moves over to the side where Alastor’s head is turned to and crouches down to look at him. Thinly veiled disgust is aimed in his direction and he sneers in response. He reaches a hand out, brushing sweaty hair out of the way, surprised but intrigued to see a bright red X in the middle of his forehead.

“So,” he starts. “You’ll be staying with me, right?”

Alastor doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t need to. He closes his eyes, his expression the perfect picture of exhausted defeat. Valentino grins.

“See you tomorrow then.”

* * *

At some point, Valentino finally leaves. Alastor slowly sits up, exhausted, head pounding. His body aches, and he feels sticky from sweat. He carefully eases himself off the table and walks on shaky legs to pick up his clothes.

The pot of food sits neglected on the stove as he moves on to the bathroom. He’ll get back to it later when he feels clean enough to eat. After burning and replacing the table.

The hot water is scalding, and he embraces it. He wishes it were acid, wishes it would melt him down to the bone so he could emerge brand new. But would it be enough?

His chest constricts painfully.

Alastor digs his nails into his wrist, claws under his skin, and pulls. Red oozes down his arm and stains the water crimson. If he can’t have acid melt him down, then he’ll rip himself apart. But the sound and feel of his skin tearing open is too much. It’s too soon after his death to relive that nightmare.

He shoves his hands back under water and watches as his blood turns everything red. The wound stitches itself back together but he’s still filthy. Still gross. Still disgusting. He’ll never be clean.

It’s all crashing down on him, the reality of what has happened—of what’s to come. It’s crushing him. His breath comes in and out as sharp, shallow gasps. He grips the sides of his head. His eyes burn, tears pricking at the corners, and he hates himself.

He’s so helpless and weak. It’s disgusting. He’s disgusting. Disgusting, _disgusting, **disgusting!**_

He doesn’t eat that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think but also don't talk to me.
> 
> And yes, this story went from four chapters to five. I was rewriting the third chapter and I realized I was gonna have to split it in two. Also, this is part of a series! So while this story doesn't end very happily, there is future comfort to look forward to.


	3. Roadkill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first few days are always the hardest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the chapter count went up again. Shh.
> 
> Warnings for non-con, abuse, alcohol use, gore, and vomiting. If I missed anything, let me know.

Valentino arrives the next day, a sneer plastered on his face. There’s no time to brace himself when the sour, acrid smell of smoke is blown in his face and seeps into his blood. Alastor chokes and he feels like he’s drowning but it’s too late to be saved now. He can feel Valentino’s hands on him and it’s as electrifying as it is repulsive. A hand on his shoulder and a hand on his back that moves around to his side and draws him closer.

“You’re so thin,” Valentino murmurs, pinching his hipbone through the fabric of his clothes. Alastor feels lost. The way his body involuntarily responds, the way his mind splits between wanting more and wanting to rip Valentino’s arm off. It’s easier to just keep his smile neutral and not say or do anything in response.

He tries to focus only on the rolling pavement in front of him, but it’s hard with Valentino’s restless hands all over him. Soft pink smoke from Valentino’s cigarette consumes his vision and fills his lungs as they walk together, and it makes time feel simultaneously too slow and too fast. A massive blur with only Valentino’s slender fingers digging into his ribs grounding him into reality.

There’s a lot of blurred memories when it comes to Valentino. A deal he barely remembers making in a dirty little restaurant some weeks ago. He knows he made a deal, feels it burn within his soul, but most of the details escape him. _Protection. Look out for each other. Stay at the studio._

Yesterday was just a massive haze of pink smoke, blood in his mouth, and pain. There was some strange carnal desire that didn’t belong to him, wavering in and out until Valentino finally left. And then there was just empty, hallow pain. A void of disgust mixed together with gnawing hunger.

He feels it all now too. The lust-filled desire, the disgust, and the ever-present hunger. When they enter the studio, Alastor wants to throw up the acid in his stomach. It smells like sweat and sex and his guts twist uncomfortably. He tries to play a calming little tune to himself but the only thing that comes out is static.

Some of the demons greet him, fearful, excited, leering. Handshakes range from lingering too long to barely even touching him. The hand that had been on his shoulder moves to his neck and Alastor feels stuck. He smiles though, wide and full of teeth like always.

The two of them move on, Valentino leaning down to whisper in his ear, “You’ll get to know everyone later.” Alastor swallows the knot in his throat before reality blurs and he can’t remember why he felt so uncomfortable in the first place.

He finds himself in Valentino’s bedroom, undressed, and surrounded by pink fog. He can’t breathe, lungs filled with smoke. It sits heavy inside him, slowly spreading, grabbing hold and claiming every little bit that is him. Each time he breathes in it seems to reach more and more of him, hooking its claws into his very blood and whispering lust into his heart.

Valentino jerks suddenly, biting down hard on his collarbone, teeth scraping the bone itself. Alastor hisses and digs his claws deep into Valentino’s shoulders in response. He tries and fails to hold back his groan when he reaches his climax. Valentino switches from biting to soft, feathery kisses on each individual scar as Alastor comes back down to himself. The desire slowly recedes with each heavy exhale of breath.

The sweat on his body is just another layer of grime on his already disgusting person. No amount of showers and baths can clean him from this filth. He pulls himself up and off of Valentino, sickened by the sound and feel of it all.

He wants to lay down, body spent and head spinning. He’s exhausted, he just wants to sleep and pretend this isn’t real for a few hours. But Valentino keeps him upright, holding on to his sides and arms.

“You have such a beautiful smile, you know that?” Valentino remarks, trailing a hand up from Alastor’s stomach to his jaw, slow and purposeful. He runs his thumb over Alastor’s bottom lip before gripping his chin and bringing up a pair of pliers. Alastor eyes them wearily.

“Open your mouth,” he says. Alastor does, hesitantly so, and the pliers clamp down on one of his teeth. In one swift motion, Valentino pulls down and rips the tooth out. Alastor tears himself out of his grasp and covers his mouth, a stabbing pain spreading from his jaw to his skull. All he can taste is his own blood.

Valentino tsks. “No, no. Come here, I’m not done yet.”

He holds up a silver tooth and beckons him closer. Alastor narrows his eyes but moves back and slowly opens his mouth again. Replacing the missing tooth hurts even more than having it ripped out, his vision going white for a brief moment. He shoves Valentino away who only laughs at him.

“I normally prefer gold,” he says, tapping against his own shining tooth. “But I wanted to make sure yours would stand out against your smile.”

Alastor covers his mouth again and hangs his head, blood pooling into his hand. His jaw aches, throbs, and stings as his torn gums heal around the new tooth. He hears the click of Valentino’s lighter, and as smoke fills his lungs once more, pain is replaced with lust. But he doesn’t have the energy to act on it.

He lays down and watches his blood spill from his hand and darken the already red sheets. Valentino’s bed feels too soft, too encompassing, like it’s trying to swallow him whole. Valentino leans over him and presses a kiss against his temple. Alastor closes his eyes and drifts away.

The next day, he wakes up to Valentino lightly shaking him and is greeted with a throbbing ache in his upper jaw. He sucks in a hissing breath, which only makes it worse, and curls in on himself. He covers his mouth and the smell of his old blood from last night fills his nose.

“Come on, Ally-boy, let’s get you cleaned up,” Valentino says. “You have a photoshoot later today.”

“Photoshoot?” Alastor mumbles. It hurts to talk.

Valentino doesn’t elaborate and soon enough, Alastor finds himself in a hot bath with him. Fingers run through his hair and scrub over his skin. It doesn’t make Alastor feel any less filthy though, especially when Valentino lingers over every scar like they’re scraps of paradise. Shampoo drips down into his eyes and Alastor just lets it happen so he can feel the burn. It’s a nice distraction from Valentino’s touch, the overwhelming floral scent, and the gnawing hunger that’s tearing him apart from the inside.

His head is tipped back, and the water rinses out the shampoo and clogs his ears. He thinks that’ll be the end of it but then Valentino readjusts them both. He pulls him onto his lap instead of just having him sit between his legs. Fresh anxiety fills Alastor’s chest as Valentino wraps his arms around his torso and plants kisses on his shoulders and on the knobs of his spine.

“Relax, baby deer,” he says, voice low, his hands traveling lower. “I just think you need to love yourself a little more.”

One hand wraps around his own and they come together around his cock. Alastor’s breath hitches as Valentino uses his hand to work the motions, slowly, with purpose. Valentino switches from kissing to biting as the speed increases. Alastor feels like he’s drowning under the bathwater, and when Valentino offers his hand, he accepts. He bites down hard, cutting deep, hitting bone. It sends a wave of stabbing pain from his jaw to his skull, but then the sour taste of Valentino’s blood settles in his system and it all fades away.

He only has on a red silk bathrobe when he enters the studio. There’s scantily dressed demons hanging around, resetting the lights and cameras. Valentino ushers him forward to the purple cushioned chair and Alastor stumbles on drunken legs. He had shared a few drinks with Valentino earlier, but with nothing in his stomach he was completely intoxicated.

He sits down and the photoshoot begins with Valentino’s watchful gaze observing the whole thing. They have him do a variety of poses, with and without the bathrobe. But then Alastor stops listening.

“Spread your legs more,” someone says. Alastor laughs and doesn’t move. Someone else tries to manhandle him and swats their hands away.

“Dun touch,” he warns, smile playfully sharp. They take quick, fearful steps back and Alastor busies himself by picking at the chair cushion. It’s made of a furred material that tickles his bare skin. He tears out clumps and gleefully watches them fall to the floor. He keeps his eyes fixated there when he hears Valentino’s heels clacking toward him.

“Now, now,” he says, lifting Alastor’s gaze to his by titling his chin up with his finger. “Don’t get all fussy during work. I need you to focus.”

Alastor snorts and pulls away. He readjusts himself, letting his legs hang over the arm of the chair as he rests his back against the other side. Valentino clicks his tongue and reaches over to prop one of his feet up on the arm of the chair. He slowly runs a hand down his thigh, trying and succeeding in getting a rise out of him.

Alastor lunges forward and just barely catches Valentino’s arm with his claws. He snickers at the glare he receives, and sneers when Valentino grabs his face, lips pulled back into a snarl.

“What’re ya gonna do?” Alastor asks. “Hit me like dear ol’ dad did?”

Valentino narrows his eyes but otherwise says nothing. He lets go and walks off, joining the other demons behind the camera. Alastor watches for a moment, hearing but not listening to the mumbled discussion about his position. He turns his head away and licks the blood from his fingers.

It tastes as putrid as Valentino’s pretty pink smoke smells. He hardly notices the camera flash.

It’s after the photoshoot when Valentino smacks him so hard that Alastor stumbles back a few steps, nearly falling to the floor. They had just entered his bedroom and the door hadn’t even closed yet. Alastor’s face stings, but he stands his ground even as his mind spins and reels back to when he was alive and younger.

“Don’t you _ever—”_ Valentino steps closer— "attack me like that again.”

He grabs his face with one hand as the other wraps around his neck and two more keep his arms still. Valentino’s breath is hot in his face as he leans down to ask, “Understand?”

Alastor glares at him, smile strained, but he refuses to respond. The buzz of alcohol has long since passed along with the lust-filled high from that morning. He’s tired, he’s starving, and he’s angry. Valentino seems to notice and narrows his eyes.

That night Alastor buries his claws into the bedsheets and he hates himself for every sound that escapes past his clenched teeth. He hates himself even more when he wishes Valentino had breathed smoke into his lungs. At least then his mind is tricked into enjoying, and he barely even remembers what happened later.

It’s a long night, and the next morning arrives without much care.

Alastor wakes up to Valentino tracing a finger over his scars, lovingly caressing them as if they’re a part of a grand masterpiece. He sighs quietly. “You’re obsessed with them.”

Valentino chuckles. “I’m obsessed with you.”

Alastor doesn’t doubt it. And it seems yesterday’s grievance has been forgiven as Valentino draws him closer and positions himself over him. It starts with soft kisses on his collarbone that turns into licks and bites on his neck. He grinds his erection against him, but the only thing going through Alastor’s mind is how empty his stomach is. He hasn’t eaten in days, initially unable to due to the grime and filth coating his body. But it’s driving him mad now, he can’t ignore it any longer.

“I’m hungry,” he says quickly, daring to hope that it’ll be enough of a distraction to get out of having sex.

Valentino pauses and pulls back to look at him, a smirk playing at his lips. “I can help with that.”

But his help isn’t at all what Alastor’s stomach craves and he feels even worse. Valentino’s flesh and blood is just more pink smoke in his veins. He feels dizzy and sick. It’s all so disgusting and yet so addicting

He arrives at the studio still hungry and drunk.

They had shared more drinks while in the bath, cleaning up the blood from earlier. Alastor downed almost the whole bottle of whatever it was, he doesn’t remember. Just like he doesn’t remember if this is supposed to be another photoshoot or a film.

There are other demons, mostly naked, lounging around on set. Alastor draws the bathrobe tighter around his person when they see him and wave him over. He stumbles, bumping into someone on the way there who snaps at him. Alastor snarls in return and the quickly step back.

“Drink enough, dearie?” one of them chides, giggling when he finally reaches the bed. He grips the wood frame to keep himself steady. His stomach churns and he swallows hard.

“That s’pose t’ be a pun?” Alastor asks, levelling a playful glare at the three of them.

The bird-like demon titters, “Only if you want it to be, sweetheart.”

Alastor chuckles lightly and the other two demons join in the laughter. But then he has to close his eyes and focus on breathing when a wave of nausea hits him. Valentino’s heels clack loud in his ears, tapping near the edge of the set as he watches them. Alastor moves to try and sit on the bed, hooved toes scraping the floor, and feels bile rising in his throat. He claps a hand over his mouth, trying to keep himself together.

“Don’t vomit on the sheets,” someone says, and it sounds like they’re teasing but he’s not sure.

He tries to swallow it back but to no avail. Alastor throws up, stomach acid and alcohol splashing onto the floor. The other demons grumble their complaints, but he can barely hear them over the sound of his own retching. He’s on his knees on the floor, dry heaving once the contents of his stomach have been emptied.

Someone tries to grab him and haul him up, but he shakes them off, radio static spiking. He’s sweaty, the silk bathrobe sticking to his skin, and his throat burns. He just wants to eat and lie down and be left alone—

“Don’t touch me!” he snarls, ripping someone’s arm off. He has no idea who it is, and he doesn’t care. The spray of blood is almost beautiful but it’s the smell that sends him over the edge.

Alastor lunges forward and pins the demon down. Their screams are cut short when he bites into their throat. Blood gushing, flesh tender. He swallows and it’s so good. It doesn’t dissolve into pink smoke that incessantly whispers lust into his heart and he loves it. It’s the best thing he’s had in days. He tears into the body, eating more, needing more— _oh god, make the hunger stop!_

But his unsettled stomach immediately rejects it and he throws up again. Blood and chunks of flesh splatter across the floor. He chokes and his coughs turn into retches, but nothing comes out. His throat feels raw and his stomach aches. He’s so tired, exhausted to the very bone.

New hands reach for him, dragging him to his feet, and he can’t bring himself to fight back. He’s being held up by his shoulders and waist, unable to keep himself steady. Valentino glares at him.

“What the _fuck_ was that?”

Alastor doesn’t answer. Instead he watches pink drip past Valentino’s lips, down his chin, and fall to the bloody floor. Absentmindedly, he raises a hand to Valentino’s face and swipes his thumb over his mouth. Something about the action makes Valentino pause and his face softens.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says. “And then we’ll go out to eat.”

He lets him pick out his own clothing and Alastor wears as many layers as he can. Long sleeve button up, vest, suit jacket, lightweight coat. Alastor finally feels safe and secure and comfortable after days of nothing. Finally, the filth staining his soul and body is covered, hidden away.

They go to The Devil’s Plate again and Alastor orders almost the whole menu. The little bug waitress looks both overwhelmed and positively excited as she writes the order down and disappears into the kitchen. Valentino watches him with a thoughtful and contemplative look as if he were analyzing a painting he has yet to discover the meaning of.

Alastor decides not to pay him much mind and instead focuses on the food in front of him. It’s so good, every last bite, even when he has to throw up in the bathroom toilet because his body is still a wreck. But he eats it all and most of it stays down. Valentino pays the bill and they walk back to the studio. He still has a hand on his shoulder, but the layers of fabric ease Alastor’s mind. And for the first time since Valentino came to his house on that godawful day, he plays a little tune through his teeth.

But nothing good can last forever. At least a pink haze surrounds his vision and fills his chest as he slowly strips down. He relishes in this tiny bit of pure control as he dictates how he removes his clothing while Valentino can only watch with his hand in his pants.

And from there, everything finally falls into place.


	4. Rotten Meat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time has passed, things have settled, pink smoke and alcohol make everything better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for non-con, abuse, alcohol use, drug use, and vomiting. Let me know if I missed anything.

The days pass. And the days turn into weeks, and the weeks turn into months. Alastor settles into a basic routine of sex and alcohol. It’s varied in between photoshoots and films and even social gatherings where Valentino converses with other overlords. Alastor has to feign a loving relationship with him during those moments which, while undesirable, is preferable to them knowing Valentino owns him thanks to a shoddy deal.

This shaky establishment of their situation has resulted in several arguments between him and Valentino that never ended well for him. And even in his drunken state right now, he knows tonight will be no better when a demon waltzes up to him and asks, “Aren’t you the Radio Demon?”

Alastor doesn’t answer, just keeps smiling as he fumbles getting another drink. The wine spills out on the table as he tries to pour it in the glass. The demon beside him snickers and continues by saying, “Radio Demon? More like drunken Radio Whore!” He laughs loudly like he just told the greatest joke in history, clapping his hands even.

A burst of anger ignites in his core and burns under his skin. It’s not the first time someone’s told him this, he’s heard it quite a few times over the past several months—almost year. Valentino being the Overlord of Lust has left a nasty streak on Alastor’s reputation despite the “relationship” status. It doesn’t help that Alastor’s had to stay radio silent this whole time either.

 _Safer that way,_ Valentino had said. Alastor’s not sure what that was supposed to mean, too drunk and high on lust to care at the time. But right now, this loudmouth cretin of an overlord has his full, alcohol rage-induced attention. He quickly downs his drink.

“So uncreative,” he mumbles before breaking the glass and shoving it in the demon’s eye. He’ll get in trouble later, of course, but the immediate satisfaction of blood gushing onto his hand and the sound of tearing skin mixed with agonized screams is worth it.

Later Valentino throws him into the bedroom and slams the door shut behind him. Alastor barely saves himself from falling by catching himself on the end table. His claws scratch the wooden surface and he takes private joy in that.

Valentino’s saying something, aiming to scold him about appearances in overlord gatherings as if they haven’t had this one-sided conversation already. _Wear as many layers as you want but stay by my side and let me touch you and don’t act out._ But Alastor’s tired and drunk and hungry, and he’s still fuming about that earlier comment.

“I’m not your whore!” Alastor snaps, cutting Valentino off entirely.

Valentino narrows his eyes as his lips pull back into a snarl. He grabs Alastor’s face and wraps his hands around his wrists to keep him still. Leaning down he asks, “Then what are you if not my whore?”

“I’m—” Alastor pauses, suddenly unsure. His mind goes blank, whatever he had planned on saying has been replaced with nothing. Valentino watches him, looking more and more smug with each passing second, waiting for his answer. But Alastor doesn’t have an answer. At least, not an answer he wants to admit to.

Valentino smirks and spins him around before pushing him toward the full-length mirror. Alastor looks away, unwilling to confront the reality of his situation. But Valentino grips his hair and forces his head straight, forces him to look. “What do you see?” Valentino asks, voice low. “Who do you see?”

It’s him, right? At least, he thinks it’s him. No. That can’t be right. He’s strange to look at, the creature in the mirror, mimicking his expressions and mannerisms. Alastor lifts a hand, wanting to touch, needing to know. His claw touches the glass reflection and he sees the copy of Valentino grin as the real one laughs in his ear. And that’s when it all comes crashing down on him.

It _is_ him. Whatever he may have been before is gone now. His sense of identity already stripped down to nothing just like his clothes every day and every night. The time spent here has worn him down, shifted his thought process, changed his very appearance. He can barely recognize himself in the mirror.

His hair reaches his shoulders, at Valentino’s insistence, and curls wildly at the ends. His cheeks have hallowed out, making him look thinner and pointier. His eyes some strange mix of vacant, glossy, and dead. And then there’s the piece of silver in his smile. A branding. He is owned.

What is he? A plaything, an object of desire, Valentino’s whore.

Who is he? He’s the Radio Demon turned drunken Radio Whore.

These are answers to questions he can’t bring himself to admit out loud, answers to questions he doesn’t want to think about because they’re true and they hurt. His skin crawls where Valentino touches him, the layers of fabric offering no sense of protection now. He wants to throw up. He’s so weak, so _gross,_ so **_disgusting._**

The words ring in his head and Alastor grinds his teeth together. He twists and tears himself out of Valentino’s grasp. His legs are unsteady and his back hits the mirror, but it doesn’t matter. He seethes, he wants to both fight and run away from it all. Without thinking any further, he lashes out, intending on clawing out Valentino’s eyes so he can’t look at him anymore. But his movements are too slow, and Valentino is quick to take advantage of this.

Alastor hits the ground hard and he’s thrown back in time, unable to hear what’s being shouted at him. It’s the same spot even, right below the eye, skin torn open and blood oozing down his cheek. He remembers his father standing over him, knuckles bleeding, face ugly, voice too loud. A kick aimed at his ribs. His mother came in, acting as a shield, and she received the same. All the while his father grunted and breathed so hard that Alastor likened him to a nasty old pig.

Despite the difference in their skin tone, her so much darker than him (and _oh_ how he was still too dark for society), they shared matching bruises that day, and many days after that. Their blood would spill and mix and stain the floors of that house. But while his anger simmered, boiled, and spilled, she would remain strong, sturdy, and unmovable. She would get angry, of course, but she would express it in her cooking, her cleaning, her gardening. Burning, scathing, perfection. It was mesmerizing to watch.

His mother was so beautiful, not just in appearance, but in how strong and kind and caring she was. Her touch so gentle as she would patch him up while he clumsily tried to wipe the blood off her face. Her eyes so full of love when she looked at him. Her voice so soft as she would smile and tell him that, one day, everything would be all right.

He misses her. He misses her so much that it hurts. It aches and tears at his chest because he never got to say goodbye. And when she was gone everything got so much worse.

He’s pulled back to the present when Valentino grabs a handful of his hair and hauls him up. Breath hot in his face he hisses, “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

_One day—_

Alastor spits in his face.

_—everything will be all right._

He remembers those words as Valentino rips off his clothes and takes him to the bed. He holds on to those words like his mother held him after the latest rampage as his claws tear into the sheets. He focuses on those words as he waits for Valentino to fall asleep, wishing desperately for his mother’s protective embrace. But the thought of her touching him the way he is now makes his insides twist. He would stain her, ruin her from the amount of filth on his person.

Would she even want to touch him? Would she even want to look at him? Would she see him and cringe, shudder and turn away?

The thought makes his heart constrict and his eyes burn.

He carefully and quietly slips out of Valentino’s bed, wraps the silk bathrobe around his body, and steps out onto the balcony. The view expands across the city as the pentagram glares down on all of Hell. Alastor tips his head back and stares up at the blight of white that stains the dark red sky.

Heaven.

Paradise.

He wonders if his mother can see him now, wonders what she would think of him. She used to say she was so proud of him and that she knew he would be a great man one day. What would she say to him now? Did she watch him kill without regret, watch him bring down the knife, watch him aim the gun? Did she watch him drag the bodies, chop them up, cook and eat them for dinner?

Did she watch him die, young and violent? Did she cry? Did she watch him fall to Hell? Did she reach out to catch him? Did she want to? Would she want to save him now, after everything he’s done both in life and in death? Is she even looking? Does she still love him?

Alastor sinks down to his knees and curls in on himself. Against his will, the tears fall and sobs racket his body. He stays there the rest of the night.

Valentino finds him there the next morning, curled up on his side on the concrete floor. He didn’t sleep, didn’t want to let the memories turn into nightmares, just listened to the big clock tick down to the annual Cleanse in a few days’ time. _Tick, tick, tick_ it went all night. _Drip, drip, drip_ went his tears, perfectly in sync until he finally ran out of tears to shed. _Tick, tick, tick_ the clock continued counting down.

Extermination.

As the days leading up to it have drawn closer, talk about it has increased. It will be Alastor’s first time seeing it, seeing angels come down to Hell and kill demons. Exterminators, they’re called, like they’re pest control coming in to spray the bugs away. Valentino said he wouldn’t have to worry about them, that he would be safe and protected in his studio. _Protected._

He can only wonder what that will entail when Valentino crouches down and pulls him to a sitting position. “Oh, baby deer,” he says, sighing as he decides to sit down and drag Alastor into his lap. He offers some non-apology that Alastor doesn’t care to listen to. His voice is low, reverberating in his ribcage, and Alastor is so tired and so hungry. He leans back against Valentino’s body and waits for the day to truly begin.

Alastor gets cleaned up as Valentino lights a cigarette. He breathes in as much pink as he can so he can lose himself to carnal desire as Valentino dresses him. Black slacks and a red, floral patterned shirt unbuttoned down past his chest. Valentino hums, content, and cups his face.

“You look gorgeous,” he says. He leans down presses his lips against his but doesn’t go any further. Pulling back with a grin he notices the mildly miffed expression on Alastor’s face. Valentino chuckles. “Don’t want to ruin this suit quite yet.”

It’s a lovely suit. White, embroidered with pink along the seams, an overlay pattern of hearts on it, and matching pants. Alastor finds himself wanting to tear it apart for multiple reasons, none he wishes to voice out loud.

They enter the studio and Alastor’s given a script to memorize for later. He busies himself at the bar, reading it over as he drinks a bourbon straight from the bottle. It’s just a little skit, lovers reuniting or something like that. It’s boring. Alastor doesn’t care.

“Oh my, what do we have here?” someone says, snatching the script from his fingers. Alastor turns to see Jay sliding into the seat next to him. She must have just finished with someone, her feathers looking ruffled and messy, and she’s only wearing lacy undergarments. She giggles at the script before sliding the pages back to him. “Quite a silly little thing, right?”

Alastor breathes out a quiet laugh, “Yeah."

Jay was there when he attacked and ate the demon during his first few days at the studio in a desperate attempt to satisfy his hunger. While a lot of demons afterwards had been incredibly hesitant to get near him after that incident, Jay didn’t seem to mind.

 _I’m old,_ she has said. _Not much phases me anymore._

They did a lot of photoshoots together, and it helped ease the minds of the other sinners. But when it came to sex, Jay preferred women and so the others just had to learn that Alastor tended to bite.

Jay hums for a moment before standing up. She places a gentle hand on Alastor’s shoulder. “I’m going to clean up. You stay safe now.” Alastor sends her a warm smile and she walks off, talons scratching the floor as she goes. He turns back to his drink and ignore the script.

Maybe he drinks too much, but he doesn’t care. He wants to go for another bottle but a hand over his stops him. He looks up to see a cat demon smirking at him, wearing a wine-red dress that that doesn’t even reach her thighs. He’s still high on lust from earlier, and maybe he keeps their touch lingering a little too long when she pulls her hand away. But she doesn’t seem to mind, even matches his leering gaze.

“I think you and I have a little film to make,” she says, tapping the script with her claw. Alastor’s smile widens and she grins. “Let’s get you hooked on somethin’ else, yeah?” The demon lifts up a little bag full of white powder before dumping it onto the bar counter. She makes two separate lines, one for her and one for him. Then she pulls out a dollar bill from her bra, rolls it up, and snorts up her line.

She hands him the bill. “Your turn.”

“What’s your name?” he asks, hesitantly taking it and leaning over the powdered line.

“They call me Pussy.” Alastor pauses. At his quizzical glance she elaborates, “People around here don’t have the time for identities. What they care about is why you’re here and what they can get from you.”

He supposes that’s true, thinking of his own situation as he quickly snorts up his own line. His nose burns and he hands Pussy back the dollar bill, but she just tucks in into his pants pocket.

“Give it a few minutes,” Pussy says, patting his face. “You’ll be feeling great and then the two of us are gonna have a lot of fun on set.” She winks and walks past him, tail brushing against his neck. He keeps his eyes on her, watches her hips sway with each step and he knows she’s doing it on purpose

When his tongue feels numb and his heart is pounding hard in his chest, Alastor joins her in sitting on the edge of the bed. He hears the clack of Valentino’s shoes and glances over to see him with his arms crossed, watching him intently. Alastor sneers at him.

Pussy suddenly grabs his chin and turns his head to face her. She’s smiling but her eyes are narrowed in observation. “He’s got you high on him, huh?”

“Hm?”

Alastor’s gaze is fixed on her lips which pull back even further into a grin. “Maybe that’s not a bad thing for now. You remember your lines?”

“Of course,” he says, trying to press forward, a hand reaching for her thigh.

She snickers. “Good.”

They have to move away from each other then, Alastor leaving the frame for a moment, when it comes time to start filming. Pussy delivers a sappy monologue and he enters dramatically when it’s time, kicking off his shoes whilst proclaiming his heart’s desires for his beautiful lover. The lines they throw at each other are so cheesy and ridiculous, but that’s just how these scripts are sometimes.

Alastor sits down on the bed again and Pussy begins to undress him, spewing out useless nonsense as she looks at him with big amber eyes. His shirt falls away and her hands splay across his chest as she leans in to press her lips against his. She smells like a mix of flowers, but he can’t place any of them, his mind and body on overdrive as she runs her hands over him. She seems to make note of every scar she comes across, but she doesn’t linger like Valentino does and he likes that.

 _You have such lovely scars,_ Valentino’s voice whispers in the back of his mind, clawing forward. An echo of hands trace over him and it makes his skin crawl. Alastor frantically forces Pussy’s mouth open so he can deepen the kiss and let himself get lost in this moment instead of in his own head.

She’s undoing his pants as he’s sliding his hands up her thighs when he inevitably draws blood. Pussy pulls back, her grin as feral as his. His gaze is fixated on the red that drips down her chin and mixes with her pinkish-gray fur.

“You like to bite, huh?” she asks, voice sultry. “Then undress me with your teeth.”

It sounds completely absurd, and it doesn't really fit the script, but it almost feels normal at this point. Other demons have requested the same while on set with him, as well as Valentino in the bedroom. He complies easily enough, though her clothes come off more torn that necessary. And then his pants finally come off and the protection goes on and then he’s on top of her and inside her.

They start moving and Alastor’s hands feel shaky and his heart feels like it’s beating too fast. He feels all too aware of Valentino watching them—watching him. Taking in his form, observing his every movement. It’s not unusual, he’s watched him before. But Alastor swears he can feel him touching him, running his hands over his scars, whispering into his ear.

 _I love it when you’re like this._

_I love fucking you._

_You’re so good, baby deer._

Alastor breathes hard, too fast, too shallow. His thoughts are becoming too disjointed, mind and body overwhelmed at what’s happening. His insides feel like they’re being twisted and crushed. Pussy grabs his face and hisses in his ear, “Calm down. Don’t be so stiff. Just fuck me.”

He does and she’s so loud. Every gasp and moan and exclamation rings in his head. The earlier high on lust has ebbed away and he feels sick. He wants to stop, hide where no one can find him, and drink himself into a coma. But he can’t, and he has to force himself to keep going.

Pussy’s claws rake down his back, tearing into his flesh, and it sends his mind reeling back. Alastor can’t breathe, mind spiraling. He remembers being ripped apart, the dogs snarling in his ears as they rip his throat open. He was choking on his own blood; it was the only thing he could taste and smell. He remembers seeing the eyes of mercy, hearing his own broken sobs, and the world suddenly disappearing in a loud bang.

His body betrays his mind and Alastor bites down on Pussy’s shoulder, tasting iron all over again. But it’s not his own and that’s all that matters. It sends her over the edge, her groan of pleasure drowning out most of his thoughts. He’s vaguely aware of the skin on his back slowly stitching itself together.

Against his better judgement, he glances over at Valentino. He has his hand in his pants and a satisfied grin on his face.

“You were great,” Pussy says. Alastor can’t bring himself to look her in the eyes. He pulls out and he wants to throw up all the alcohol in his stomach only to immediately drink more.

And he does just that.

* * *

_He’s on a stage, stripped of his clothes, and all his scars rip open at once. His blood gushes out, painting the floor, and it’s as pink as the smoke in his lungs. There’s dog teeth in his throat, spilling out of his mouth. He can’t breathe._

_Severed hands run across his body, tracing around the edges of the open the wounds. Then they dig in, reaching inside him, dragging him down to the ground. They claim him, and he’s no longer himself until the barrel of a gun is pointed right at his face. The stage is replaced with grass, stained red._

_“Please,” Alastor wheezes._

_He’s not sure if he’s begging for life or death._

_There’s people surrounding him and the shadowed man with blank eyes. But they’re only watching him, smiling and laughing. He can’t move, arms and legs chewed down to the bone, his guts strewn about. His body aches. It hurts so much. Just make the pain stop, please. Please!_

_The gun fires._

* * *

Alastor jerks awake. There’s not enough time to make it to the bathroom, so he vomits over the edge of the bed. He coughs and spits, his throat burns. Valentino stirs in the darkness.

“What are you doing?” he asks. He sounds groggy, barely awake.

Alastor lays back down. “I threw up.”

Valentino hums like he understands but Alastor’s pretty sure the meaning of his words didn’t really register in his sleep heavy brain. Valentino just pulls him closer and buries his face in his hair. He mumbles something incoherent and then falls back asleep. Alastor stays awake, digging his claws into his wrist whenever he starts to drift off.

Morning arrives and the mess of vomit on the floor and blood on the sheets is dealt with. They fuck in the bath and Alastor has never been happier to have his world consumed in pink. It really is just easier to accept it, makes everything so much better.

Valentino holds his face as he comes down from his orgasm. “You’re so beautiful.” He kisses him. “And you’re all mine, isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” Alastor breathes out, leaning heavily against him.

_I’m your whore._

But he can’t bring himself to say that out loud, even with lust coursing through his veins. It still hurts, aches in a way he could never truly explain properly, to know that he is owned in such a way. He hopes his mom can’t see him like this. She’d be so disappointed.

They finish up and Alastor’s assured that today’s a free day of sorts. Valentino has many other clients and businesses to attend to, it’s nothing unusual. And so Alastor decides to drown himself in booze.

He’s hunkered down at the bar, face buried in his arms, when someone taps his shoulder. He slowly lifts his head up and turns to see a familiar face.

“Havin’ fun there?” Pussy asks.

“Mhm.”

She laughs lightly before sliding into the seat next to him. Her image is hazy in his vision, but he notices she’s wearing a dark blue dress this time. It has a mess of straps that fall down her shoulders, and it rides up her thighs when she sits. Alastor looks away.

“Not doing anything today?” she asks, eyeing him up and down. She tugs at his shirt, admiring the silky material. It’s a black button up, patterned with red swirling vines, tucked into some slacks. It’s comfortable, but he’s warm from the alcohol and he simultaneously wants to take it off and put on fifty more layers.

He shakes his head and it takes a while for the world to catch up. “No. You?”

“I have to go out for a walk later tonight,” she says, examining her nails. Alastor hums in understanding before turning his attention to scratching mindlessly into the bar’s wooden surface. He leaves deep gouges that he might get in trouble for later. Maybe. He’s Valentino’s favorite and everybody knows it at this point.

He glances over at Pussy. He hasn’t seen her around until yesterday, but she doesn’t seem new. She must have been busy elsewhere. Valentino does have quite a bit of dominion over Hell. Alastor briefly wonders what happened to the turf he secured all those months ago before he realizes that someone probably stole the house he made as soon as he left.

“Do you like what you do?” he asks, eyeing a bottle on the top shelf.

“For the most part,” Pussy answers. “I like the sex; I like the money. Sometimes I meet interesting people.” There’s a pause and he can feel her eyes on him. “You don’t like it, do you?”

“What makes you say that?” he mutters. Alastor gestures at the bartender who thankfully just brings him the whole bottle. He doesn’t know what it is, can’t focus on the letters, but he downs it anyway.

Pussy hums from beside him. “You can tell a lot about a person when you’re havin’ sex with ‘em.”

“Thought you said I did great?”

“Oh, you did. All things considered.”

Alastor wants to laugh and he’s not sure why. The irony, the booze, maybe both. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s doomed to repeat that situation for as long as Valentino keeps him here. He’s trapped, choking on pink, a living sex toy that everybody wants to try and fuck. He doesn’t belong to himself anymore.

His hand subconsciously reaches up to hide the silver in his smile.

“Why are you here?” he asks, looking over at her. “Why do you stay?”

Pussy shrugs. “Like I said, I like doing what I do. But I’m also protected here. As long as I pay my dues, I don’t have to worry about Extermination day.” She pauses. “What about you?”

A deal he never should have made, burning in his soul. A deal that barely remembers making in the first place at a poorly lit diner with smoke curling around him.

And that same pink smoke in his lungs, sour blood on his tongue with Valentino leering over him, in him. _We need to look out for each other,_ his voice echoes in his head. _Come stay with me at the studio. I can protect your there._

He feels like he might throw up. The bottle’s empty and his thoughts are spinning out of control. Pussy’s watching him and he somehow manages to spit out, “Like everyone else. Protection.”

His own broken laugh hurts his ears.

He asks for another bottle. Pussy doesn’t offer him any pity, just squeezes his shoulder as she gets up and says they should hang out sometime later. He drinks the rest of the day.

When the exterminators fly into Hell the following day, Alastor gets to watch as Valentino fucks him by the window. He listens to the screams of demons as they’re taken down, one by one. The angelic beasts coat the city in the blood of sinners. When they fly back to Heaven, Alastor wishes he could have been out there. He would have gladly taken a spear to the chest.


	5. Corpse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been almost two decades. What else is there to say?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for non-con, abuse, alcohol abuse, drug abuse, vomiting, and self-harm.

“You should hold off on the drinks, sweetie,” Jay says, keeping Alastor’s hair up with one hand and rubbing his back with the other as he empties the contents of his stomach into the toilet. It’s mostly alcohol, but this night’s meal is also there in soggy chunks.

“Thas not—” he swallows— “the problem—” he retches.

Although maybe it is, but he’s not willing to give up his booze. His eating habits over the years haven’t been kind to his body. Days of nothing and then too much in one sitting. Despite the constant hunger always gnawing at his insides since the moment he fell, he can barely keep anything down now. It’s frustrating, but there’s nothing to be done about it at this point.

Jay doesn’t make another comment, just sighs and flushes the toilet for him as he rests his cheek on the seat. He’s sweaty and his throat burns. He focuses on breathing as he waits for his stomach to settle.

“Did you not like the pizza?” Flick asks as he pushes the bathroom door open, sounding more nosy than concerned.

“Scat!” Jay orders, her hand leaving Alastor’s back to point. Flick snickers and the door squeaks shut. “Damn rat,” she mutters. Alastor breathes out a quiet laugh.

Flick is new, died a few months ago before coming to Valentino offering his services in exchange for protection. Alastor was there at the time and he could see he refusal on the tip of Valentino’s tongue, ready to spit into the rat bastard’s pleading face. Everything about him screamed cowardice, but he was very persistent and very annoying. So much so that an idea sprung up in Alastor’s mind.

 _Look, Val,_ he had said, coming around to rest his hands on the rat’s tense shoulders. _He’s small, easy to miss and easy to forget. He could be perfect for gathering information on your rivals._

He could tell Valentino wanted nothing to do with Flick, viewed him as a bothersome pest he wanted to crush beneath his boot. It was amusing to see, to say the least. And how funny it would be should Valentino find him useful and have to keep him around.

 _Besides,_ Alastor continued. _If he turns out to be a waste, then we can just kill him._

It was so good to exercise his little bit of influence over Valentino in that moment. Over the years, his acceptance and eagerness to please has brought him on a better level of understanding with Valentino. He listens to him now. For the most part anyways.

Flick’s expression switching from pure gratefulness to fearful horror was just the icing on the cake as Valentino hired him with a smirk painted on his face. But since then, Flick’s taken to hanging around Alastor as much as he can, hoping to obtain whatever benefits he has as Valentino’s favorite. Alastor often finds himself wanting to bite his throat out.

Alastor sighs and starts to get up. Jay helps and he moves to the sink to rinse his mouth out. She messes with his hair, tying it back into a low ponytail. Valentino likes it long, so he’s let grow out down to his shoulder blades. It’s dry, dull, and brittle, but it’s nothing a good stylist before a photoshoot or film can’t hide with an abundance of hair product.

He spits. “I need another drink.”

Jay just rolls her eyes and shakes her head as they both exit the bathroom. They’re using Jay’s room in the studio because it’s cleaner and she has a bigger bed for everyone to lay on. Flick’s eating the rest of the pizza as Pussy’s painting her nails bright pink. Alastor quickly grabs the last bottle of wine and sits down on the bed with Jay to join them.

“Does nobody else want this?” Flick asks, mouth full. Pussy and Jay both tell him to keep his mouth shut like parents scolding a child. He glares, mumbles, and continues eating. Alastor would rather throw up, cringing at the grease. It makes him miss his mother’s jambalaya as he pops off the cork and starts downing his drink straight from the bottle.

“Honestly, Flick,” Pussy says in between blowing on her wet nails, “You’re absolutely disgusting.”

Flick blinks at her. Thankfully, he swallows this time before speaking, “Are you saying that because of the buck teeth and the rat tail? Look, that’s not my fault. Blame God, sweetie, not me.”

“No, it’s because you’re a fucking slob,” Pussy hisses. Flick looks ready to protest and defend himself but Alastor interrupts.

“Maybe that comes with being a rat.”

Jay titters. “Don’t give him any more excuses.”

They all laugh, minus Flick who’s looking more than a little annoyed. He glares at the three of them and makes an aggressive show of cleaning his hands on the available napkins.

“Whatever,” he grumbles. “Bunch of whores.”

“Very original,” Alastor responds flatly. He feels way too used to comments like those now. Maybe that’s a little sad but, like most things in his life lately, there’s nothing to be done about it.

Pussy smirks and makes a show of spreading her legs. “They don’t call me Pussy for nothing.” She’s wearing a skirt but no underwear and Alastor decides to tip the bottle back again. Jay hums from beside him, clearly pleased. Flick looks a little caught off guard, face burning red, mouth agape.

“You really are a coward,” Alastor says, setting the empty wine bottle down on the floor. The rat sputters as the other two laugh.

“Honestly,” Pussy continues, snickering and readjusting herself. “Have you met the rooster demon named Cock yet?

Flick stares at her. “The what?”

Alastor snorts. Flick only came to Valentino for protection, security, and safety, perfectly willing to offer himself and his services. But Valentino either keeps him out of the studio or has him busy with camera work. Alastor’s pretty sure Flick’s only been in one or two films, which is honestly hilarious.

Jay laughs and lays down, stretching out with a heavy sigh. “You guys are so _young.”_

And that’s true. Jay’s the oldest; lived the longest, been here the longest. Then it’s either him or Pussy next. He’s not quite sure, though he knows Pussy has been in Hell for a lot longer than him, and he remembers her mentioning she had a child once. And then finally Flick. Poor young and dumb Flick who just can’t seem to fit in anywhere.

Of course, Alastor doesn’t really fit in either, but the others don’t know that. They don’t know about the deal, about how unwilling he initially was. But he’s so accepting of it now that nobody notices; it’s like he was always meant to be here. He’s so coated in filth that nobody can see the cracks, nobody can see the broken shards falling from a useless, hallow body.

Alastor shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts, and the world lags behind. He desperately wants another drink (he finished the last bottle), or a line of cocaine (Pussy didn’t bring any), or a shot up the arm of heroin (she didn’t bring any of that either). He’d love to have Valentino’s smoke, Valentino’s blood, Valentino himself. He’d even take a good fuck, or two, or ten. Anything. Anything to not think.

He hopes no one can tell how hard he’s trying to control his breathing. His stomach churns, and he thinks he might throw up again when a pack of cigarettes suddenly lands in his lap. Alastor looks up to see Pussy ready to toss a lighter at him, but he holds a hand up to stop her. She pauses and waits as fumbles with the package and pulls out a cigarette. Putting it in between his lips, he snaps his fingers, producing a small flame, and lights it. He breathes in deeply and lets the nicotine do its work. It’s clean smoke, nothing lustful about it, but that’s fine.

“Quit giving away my smokes,” Jay mumbles, unmoving.

“Don’t leave them under your pillow then.”

That earns Pussy a shove from Jay’s foot and laughter fills the room. Alastor feels himself calming down, like he can relax again and enjoy the atmosphere. Without really meaning to, a little tune slips past his teeth. Something jazzy, upbeat, and it eases Alastor’s mind further. Flick drums his hands on his thighs and Pussy nods her head and Jay bounces her leg.

It’s enough to get Alastor up and off the bed, cigarette out and forgotten. Before he even truly gets started, Pussy and Flick are quick to join him. They dance with him, sing along with him, and Jay watches them with fond amusement shining in her eyes. Alastor’s heart swells, chest tightening with an emotion that he simultaneously wants to hold close and throw far away. Either way, it’s the most genuine smile from him in years.

They dance and sing the rest of the night. He dreams of being alive, singing and dancing with Mimzy.

The next morning, Alastor wakes up smooshed between all three of them. Flick’s snoring in his ear, Pussy’s curled around him with her face buried in his hair, and Jay’s laying on top of all of them. He squirms a bit and it’s enough to at least get Jay to wake up and move. She helps him up without causing Flick and Pussy to stir too much.

He sighs heavily as he slips on his shoes and jacket. “See you later.”

“Stay safe, sweetie,” Jay murmurs before he makes his exit.

The walk back to Valentino’s room feels both too long and too short. Other sinners pass him by, smiling or glaring in his direction. He doesn’t know how he manages to keep his own smile up anymore. It’s exhausting sometimes, and he’s caught himself frowning in the mirror more often that he can count.

Alastor sighs, head aching, and wishes for another drink. He opens the door to the bedroom and sees Valentino glaring at him with his arms crossed. “You’re late.”

“I know.”

“You have a photoshoot today that was supposed to start half an hour ago,”

“I know.”

“You look like a complete mess.”

“I know—”

Valentino grabs his face. “Don’t talk back to me.”

Alastor stares at him, paused in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt. He didn’t mean to talk back, that wasn’t the intention at least. He was just acknowledging his mistakes and accepting his failures. So many mistakes and failures, he’s swimming—drowning in them. It takes a lot of effort to not think of his father shouting in his face about how useless he is. He knows that now; he doesn’t need reminding.

“Sorry, Val,” Alastor says, voice soft, barely above a whisper. Valentino just sighs and releases him. He finishes undoing the buttons for him and they move on to the bathroom. Valentino doesn’t join him in the bath this time, already clean and dressed himself, but he spends a long time working out the knots in his hair. He’s none too gentle about it either, like he’s going out of his way to rip his hair out.

It brings up memories, unfortunately. How he childishly wanted to grow out his hair like his mother, and how she indulged him for a while. She’d brush it out as gently as she could, humming to herself. But when his father started gripping it, using it to throw him to the floor, he got it cut short. It didn’t help much in the end though.

Now it’s longer than ever, and only because Valentino likes it that way. He likes to grab it and pull it during sex. He also likes to grip it and throw him to the floor too.

“Where were you last night?” Valentino asks, now working shampoo into his hair. Soothing, gentle massages, careful around his ears like always. But the question twists Alastor’s insides and he digs his claws into his wrist, a nasty habit he’s developed. He’s gotten more leeway over the years but it’s very little. Valentino stills like him as close as possible; he’s supposed to ask if he wants to be with someone else for a night.

“Friends,” he says. “Co-workers.” He doesn’t want to say their names, not even Flick’s. He doesn’t want them to be taken away. They don’t get to just hang out like normal friends do. Pussy’s not normally at this studio, usually at one of Valentino’s brothels or walking the street. Jay takes personal clients almost every night. And Flick’s still new, schedule unsteady.

Valentino hums. “Fun night?”

“Yeah.” Alastor digs deeper and starts to drag up his arm. “I missed you though.” Missed not thinking. It’s so much easier to just not think. Especially if Valentino’s there, fucking him so hard he can’t even dream of thinking. Smoke in his lungs and blood in his mouth. Lust, lust, lust. It’s a good time, he’s learned to enjoy it.

“Oh really?” Valentino tips his head back and rinses his hair out. He sounds like he’s smiling and Alastor relaxes a little, eases his claws out of his arm. “I missed you too, Bambi.” Relief starts to roll over him but then Valentino grabs his hair and jerks his head back. He hisses in his ear, “So don’t go hanging around without my permission, understand?”

Alastor gulps, “Yes.”

“Good.” He lets go. Voice low, he asks, “Now, shall I give you what you want?”

_“Please.”_

Alastor expects a handjob and fingers in his mouth that he can bite off. What he does not expect is for Valentino to drag him out of the bath and ram him against the wall. But he’ll take it. It’s fine. He leaves gouges on the tile from his claws and blood smears from his arm that hadn’t quite healed yet. Something to deal with later as he gets dressed for the photoshoot.

He’s put in a thin, black dress that barely reaches his thighs. No underwear, of course. He slips on a pair of heels with straps that wrap around his legs and go past his knees. They’ve tried out different corsets before but he’s too thin for any of their options. So, like usual, Valentino settles with just wrapping a belt around his waist several times.

Valentino hums, running his hands through Alastor’s hair, and decides on a wig. It’s itchy and black, falling past his lower back, and Alastor wants to rip it off. The worst part about it is that he has to keep his ears back and covered which hurts after a while.

Dark red lipstick comes next along with a heavy amount of eyeliner and mascara. When it’s all done, Valentino comes forward and cups his face, grinning. “You look absolutely stunning!”

He brushes the bangs aside, exposing the mark on his forehead, and leans down to press his lips against his. He snakes his tongue in and blood coats the inside of his mouth. Alastor swallows as Valentino pulls back and his mind falls back to that lovely state of carnal desire.

They enter the studio and Alastor has to wait for someone else to finish their shoot since he was late. Pussy drops by for a moment, giving him a light peck on the cheek before handing him a little bag full of cocaine.

“I’m gonna be out for a while, so here’s a little present to remember me by,” she says. Then she adds, “Don’t use it all at once.”

It’s all in jest, of course, because she knows he won’t. But when she leaves, and Alastor’s still waiting for his session to start, he dumps the contents of the bag out onto the bar, breaking it into several lines, and takes it all. And then, because he’s been dying for a drink all morning, he tips back several shots of vodka—maybe the whole bottle even, he’s not sure.

“Gettin’ fucked up today, huh?” the demon behind the bar asks. He’s new, Alastor doesn’t know his name yet.

Alastor laughs, “Always.”

Finally, it comes time for his photoshoot. His hands are shaking, and his heart is pounding hard and fast against his ribs, but he ignores it. He strikes different poses like they want, making lewd expressions and lifting the dress up to expose his cock. The usual.

They’re not even halfway through when Alastor starts to feel sick. He’s sweaty, and his vision keeps going in and out, but Valentino won’t let him take a break because he was late. Alastor tries to push through but his ears are ringing so loud he can’t hear what anyone’s saying. The room’s moving, spinning out of control, or maybe that’s just him swaying.

Bile rises in his throat too fast for him to try and swallow it back and he vomits all over the floor. His vision goes dark, body seizing, and he collapses.

Alastor wakes up in Valentino’s bed, feeling more used and dirtier than usual. He’s naked, it’s night, and Valentino is asleep beside him. It’s not the first time Valentino’s fucked him while he was unconscious, but that doesn’t make him feel any better.

He carefully slips out of bed and heads to the bathroom. His reflection looks like a walking corpse, frowning at him with empty eyes judging him. For what? They’re the same useless whore living in a useless, broken body. Alastor’s breath catches and he grinds his teeth together, tears starting to fall. He’s so weak and disgusting. Filthy, nasty, rotten piece of meat full of maggots, blood, and cum.

Everything seems to boil over at once and Alastor doesn’t hesitate, just buries his claws under his skin and starts to pull. He rips and tears. Pieces of him fall to the floor. Blood is the only thing he can smell, and it reminds him of the day he died. His arms are just torn muscle, and the pain is excruciating. His tears burn him further as he digs at his thighs and stomach next.

He’s not sure how far he got because he must have passed out. When he wakes up, his wounds have mostly healed, and Valentino is cradling him against his chest. He starts to move but Valentino just holds him tighter.

“Oh, Ally-boy,” he whispers, “Why would you do that to yourself?”

Alastor doesn’t trust his voice and just shakes his head. He curls against him and tries to ignore the smell of his own flesh and blood around them. It’s certainly not the first time he’s hurt himself, but it’s the most aggressive in a while. He did something similar, years ago after a particularly nasty nightmare, but Valentino found him and stopped him. He had only gotten to one arm, but Valentino had grabbed both and Alastor never forgot the pain of having his own exposed muscle squeezed in a death grip.

Valentino sighs and scoops him up and gently sets him down in the bathtub. He turns on the water before climbing in with him and Alastor wants to drown. The blood is scrubbed away, and it turns the water crimson. Like always, Valentino caresses every scar like they’re long lost lovers.

Alastor’s clawing at his wrist when Valentino cups his face and has him look at him. “Smile for me, Bambi.”

He can’t.

The day is spent quietly, mostly on the bed doing nothing, curled against Valentino as he tries to sleep. But the dogs invade his dreams and tear him apart until he wakes up screaming. Valentino holds him close, running his hands through his hair, and he just wants to cry and scream and kill and die. And then night comes, and the sex is slow and easy. It’s so nice to not think and just surrender himself to lust-filled desire.

But blissful pink smoke can only do so much to keep him happy. He’s in the middle of a photoshoot when he’s asked to smile, and he just can’t bring himself to do it.

The camera flashes. It’s his first photo in Hell without a smile.

* * *

Time passes and Valentino remembers that all good things must come to an end. He thinks it over as he contemplates the photo of a frowning Alastor. Like all good toys, they eventually break down, having fulfilled their purpose. The fun is over.

Valentino is bored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just finished writing the last chapter and I'm so excited to edit it and get working on the sequel!! As always, please let me know what you think! I crave validation lmao


	6. Discarded Leftovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentino takes an interest in a certain spider. Alastor is crushed by realization.

It’s been just over 20 years since Valentino first made that deal with the Radio Demon and brought him to the studio. And what a fun 20 years it has been. He was hard to break, but the cracks that formed on that day in the cabin grew and deepened until finally… he just fell apart. That first photo of him frowning—and the many more that followed—was absolutely beautiful.

But with that carefully achieved, shattering success came boredom. The satisfaction of conquering and dominating the bloodthirsty beast that was Alastor has passed. He’s a broken shell, an empty husk of a person. It’s been interesting watching him break down and lose his grip, to see the all-powerful Radio Demon disappear.

And that’s just it; the power that was so enticing and addicting simply isn’t there anymore. His blood still burns, but it’s smothered and tastes bitter. Alastor has sunk into a pitiful depression that’s left him dead on the inside. A result that’s certainly interesting but not exactly entertaining to deal with.

Which is why he’s here at Devil’s Cream with a spider demon eating ice cream.

“So, you’re gonna pay for this, right?” Anthony asks, cutting into his thoughts as he twirls his spoon on the table. He’s already finished his bowl and has taken to staring at him with big, mismatched eyes. Valentino’s been slowly working on his milkshake, mind busy elsewhere on what to do with Alastor.

He chuckles. “Of course. I said it would be my treat.”

“Just making sure,” Anthony shrugs, sly smile painted on his face. Valentino matches the look and slides a foot next to his, nudging it lightly. Anthony eagerly returns the gesture and the glint in his eyes suggest they should take things further.

 _Soon._ There’s important business to attend to first.

Anthony has been in Hell for a few years now, maybe a little longer, but Valentino has only just recently found him. He was causing some trouble with a gang of demons near one of his brothels, a massive shootout with him coming out as the victor. Valentino had heard of the trigger-happy demon calling himself Tony causing problems a while ago. It’s nothing new to Hell; however, it being right on his turf this time, he figured it’d be a good idea to make sure it wasn’t a plot to steal it.

But then he came face-to-face with the spider himself and was pleasantly surprised and _absolutely taken._ Pinstripe suit and matching hat, a cigar between his teeth, and holding six guns pointed at Valentino’s face. He had shivered in sheer delight at the display.

 _You look gorgeous,_ Valentino had said, grin wide, dick hard.

Anthony had quirked a brow, returning his smile. _Thanks, handsome._

And then he shot him. Multiple times.

Valentino had collapsed and laughed loudly, realizing he had come undone and came in his pants. When his injuries had healed, he got up and brushed himself off, Anthony staring at him with a curious expression. He even insulted him, but all Valentino could think about was how stunning and fantastic he was; something new and full of surprises. Valentino offered to take him to dinner, and they shared leering gazes the whole time.

That same night they fucked in the apartment Anthony killed someone over, bullet holes still in the wall. They fucked many times after that over the past few weeks, and Valentino realized something very important during that time.

Anthony had to suppress himself in life, focus only on the family mafia business and keep it running. But now in Hell, and with Valentino there to guide him, he’s able to express himself in ways he never could before. And he’s so eager, willing to try anything and everything, so full of passion. Valentino doesn’t even have to bother with adding in his influence, but when he does Anthony’s hungrier, needier, desperate for _more, more, more!_

He was Anthony’s sexual liberation.

It was exhilarating. Especially since things had been getting dreary and dull with Alastor. Sex is boring if there’s no passion involved. Even with lust-filled desire coursing through his veins, there’s just no excitement or hunger in Alastor anymore. Just the same old boring sex—just going through the motions without any sort of passion.

Alastor’s fire has long since burnt out, but Anthony is a blazing inferno.

But that’s why he’s here right now. “I have a proposal for you,” he says suddenly.

Anthony drops his spoon. “Huh?”

“I would like for you to come and stay with me at my studio.”

“You mean at your little porn place, right?”

Valentino laughs and Anthony looks pleased. Leave it to Anthony to put the situation bluntly. Valentino sighs and leans forward, resting his chin on his hands. “You have a burning passion within you that’s dying to be released. If you come with me, I can help you express it safely while you’re under my protection.”

Anthony looks contemplative, watching him with big needy eyes. “Under your protection, huh?”

“We can discuss the terms and conditions back at my place,” Valentino says. Then he smiles. _“After_ we have a little bit of fun, of course.”

The spark in Anthony’s eyes is telling and he leans forward more, meeting Anthony halfway. It’s a chaste kiss but it promises so much more. They leave soon after, Valentino paying for the meal as promised. Anthony hangs on his arm the whole walk to the studio and Valentino can’t wait to tear his clothes off.

They can’t get to his bedroom fast enough. The door slams shut, and Anthony smashes his lips against his, kissing him hard. Valentino works on getting both of their clothes off and ends up just tearing them off instead. He doesn’t even need to add his influence, but Anthony bites a little hard on Valentino’s lip, drawing blood, and the result is fantastic.

He’s gripping Anthony’s hair, pushing his face into the pillows as he thrusts into him. Anthony claws at the sheets, pulls at the fur on his chest, and strokes his own cock, all while moaning out Valentino’s name over and over again. He’s very noisy, very loud, gasping and grunting. Every lewd sound is music to Valentino’s ears and he loves it.

He jerks Anthony’s head back and leans over him to bite at his neck and shoulders. Swears are spilling out of Anthony’s mouth and he must be getting close. Valentino grins right as the door opens and Alastor enters.

* * *

“Please hurry up,” Alastor hisses. He throws his head back and stares at the ceiling when the speed increases. He grabs a handful of hair from the demon sucking his dick and grips it, wishing he had a drink instead.

He was at the bar mindlessly watching the filming of a threesome as he downed a bottle of whiskey. Flick, Jay, and Pussy are all out today; Pussy and Jay busy with clients and Flick gathering intel. Even Valentino was gone when he woke up this morning. He’s been out a lot lately these past few weeks. Alastor’s not sure what to make of it and just occupies his time with booze instead.

Receiving a blowjob afterward wasn’t planned, he was on his way back to Valentino’s room so he could listen to the vinyl Flick gave him about a year ago. He was initially reluctant to give it up, but he promised Alastor he would definitely enjoy Frank Sinatra. And he was right. Alastor cherishes it more than Flick could ever imagine. Soft saxophone, caressing violins, and the man’s soothing voice lulls him to sleep when Valentino is gone for the night.

 _Devil May Care_ made him laugh and cry. He met the Devil and his wife, and he didn’t get lucky. There was no dare, only an offer Valentino couldn’t refuse and a night Alastor barely remembers.

He accidentally claws the demon’s scalp, and they rip themselves out of Alastor’s grasp. “Hey! I don’t like playing rough.”

Alastor sighs. “Then don’t come to me.”

He pulls his pants back up and walks away, ignoring the angry shouts from behind him. He’s still hard, but it’s not something he feels very inclined to deal with. Now he just wants to hide away and drink all the booze from Valentino’s personal stash.

He opens the door to Valentino’s bedroom blindly, not having registered the moaning he had heard from in the hall and freezes inside the doorway. There’s a spider demon on the bed, fur white and decorated with pink stripes and hearts. Valentino’s gripping his hair as he rams into him and bites at his throat.

It’s not the first time Alastor’s walked into the room while Valentino’s fucking some other demon. Sometimes he’ll just leave, most of the time Valentino makes him join. Judging by how Valentino’s grin falls from his face when Alastor enters this time, he figures he’ll just leave and come back later. He mumbles an apology and starts to back out.

“Wait for me in the hall, Ally-boy,” Valentino calls out. Alastor’s guts twist uncomfortably. He nods before closing the door.

At least he doesn’t have to wait long. He hears the spider demon whine about not finishing and Valentino reassuring him that they will soon enough. Alastor rips his claws out of his wrist when Valentino comes out to meet him, arms crossed. He’s wearing a dark pink robe and pleasant smile that Alastor can’t quite match.

“I think we should have a little talk,” Valentino says, uncrossing one set of arms and placing a gentle hand on Alastor’s shoulder. “It’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you for a while now.”

Alastor’s chest feels tight. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, not at all,” Valentino reassures him. “I just think that it’s time for you to move on.” Anxiety, dread, fear. It all pools together in his empty stomach and he wishes he had some booze to wash it out.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that it’s time for us to go our separate ways. I’ve been holding you back, keeping you here and protecting you like this.” He sounds as pleasant as his smile looks and Alastor can only blink in confusion.

“But—”

Valentino cups his face, hushing him. “I want to see you at your very best and this simply isn’t it. You’ve fallen apart and I can’t help you.”

Alastor feels like he’s been thrown into the abyss, lost, unable to breathe. But his feelings go unnoticed as Valentino presses his lips against his in a light kiss. It doesn’t go deeper. No tongue, no blood in his mouth, no lust in his heart. Valentino pulls back, smiling. “Someone will escort you out. I’ll see you later, baby deer.”

Valentino goes back into his bedroom and the moaning picks up again. Alastor’s left standing in front of the door, mind spiraling and spinning out of control. He’s not sure how much time has passed before a demon moves him away, ushering him forward with a hand on his back. Past the studio, through the lobby, and outside where the door slams shut behind him.

He turns around and tries to go back inside, but the demon locks it and shakes their head at him. Alastor blinks and turns back to face the red city. He hasn’t gone outside in a while, and Valentino hasn’t offered to take him out to eat recently either. Which was fine. Alastor had taken to just hiding away and drinking himself to death, gnawing at his own flesh or failing to digest the impromptu—or sometimes scripted—meals during films. He can’t remember the last time he ate something and kept it down. Although his memory has been rather shaky as of late, lots of black spots. Pussy and Jay said it was the alcohol.

Alastor wraps his arms around himself and starts walking, occasionally looking back at the studio, wondering if this is all some poorly done joke. But as other demons pass him by and the big clock keeps ticking down to the next Cleanse, Valentino never comes out to stop him and bring him back inside. He digs his claws into his arms and keeps walking.

He’s not sure how he managed it, but he finds himself standing in front of the house he built with his own blood over 20 years ago. The radio tower still stands strong despite the rust, but the roof has almost completely collapsed. The windows are broken, smashed in, and there’s bloody graffiti all over the outside, competing with the overgrowth of vines to be seen.

_Radio Whore._

_Slut._

Alastor sighs, claws at his wrists, and steps forward. At the door he can see all the wood rot and his chest constricts painfully, eyes burning. His home has rotted away just as the same as he has. Inside he can see how used it was and how abandoned it is now. He wants to both laugh and cry at it all.

Instead he walks further inside, exploring and taking survey of the damage over the years. The couch is stained and torn to shreds. All the jars he had on the shelves are either gone or have been smashed into broken shards on the floor. His books received similar treatment, either missing or ripped apart. The kitchen is in shambles; fridge dead and broken, rotten food on the floor, and it looks like someone tried to burn the place down.

He skips past the bathroom, the smell seeping past the closed door making him gag. His bedroom is torn apart. The bed matches the state of the couch, stained and shredded. There’s more bloody writing on the walls, just the continuation of calling him a whore and a slut. It doesn’t bother him as much as he thinks it should.

He moves upstairs where his recording room is and wishes he hadn’t. It’s completely trashed, pieces of equipment ripped out and smashed apart on the floor. Cords gutted and wires exposed. Nothing works. It's like everything he was has been destroyed and the remnants are here on display like artifacts in a museum.

Alastor sinks down to the floor and curls in on himself. Tears fall down his face and he can’t stop them, no matter how much and how hard he rubs at his eyes. He sniffs and fiddles with a piece of broken equipment on the floor next to him. There’s frayed wires attached and he picks at the copper inside, occupying his hands with something other than his poor wrists for the first time in a while.

He tries not to think, doesn’t _want_ to think, but he can’t help but wonder _why._ Why is he here? Why did this happen? Why did Valentino let him go? Why did he tell him to leave? He thinks back to what Valentino said earlier.

_You’ve fallen apart and I can’t help you._

Words that left him reeling, followed by a kiss that meant nothing. Pulling away with an empty little smile. And then he left him standing there, going back inside to his new sex toy.

The image of the spider demon flicks across his mind. His white fur, pink hearts, and big mismatched eyes full of need, lust, and carnal desire. Moaning and whining, stroking himself as Valentino rammed into him. The grin on Valentino’s face that vanished when he saw him—

Alastor freezes. Reality comes crashing down and it’s like someone just twisted and crushed his insides and he wants to throw up. The pieces fall in place as his hands shake and he can’t breathe.

**_He’s been replaced._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say a massive THANK YOU to everyone who decided to read and keep up with this fucked up story of mine, haha. I got nervous about replying to comments on this fic for whatever reason, but just know that I appreciated every single one, as well as every single kudos and bookmark. This is the first fic I've completed in a very long time and I'm so incredibly happy. While Festering itself does not have a happy ending, there is future comfort to look forward to. The path to healing is not easy. And there's even more trouble to be found later. I hope to see you all in the sequel, All is Hell that Ends Well! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Be sure to let me know what you think!
> 
> Follow me at [dogscars](https://dogscars.tumblr.com/) where I post and reblog things I think relate to this story and the many other ideas I have.


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